


Head over Heels, or, the Perils of Dating a SHIELD Agent

by coffeejunkii



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Dates, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3279995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint try to go on a date.</p>
<p>Written for this <a href="http://thisischaneen.tumblr.com/post/109068078108/au-scenarios-were-bad-at-dating-edition">prompt</a>: <i>I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. …I mean, sure, I guess you can come down here, but… okay…</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Head over Heels, or, the Perils of Dating a SHIELD Agent

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for Ralkana for betaing!

Phil's phone rings when he's having another crisis over whether he should wear the gray sweater or maybe a safer-feeling shirt to his date with Clint. The words “date with Clint” do odd flip-floppy things to his stomach.

“Hey,” Phil says after seeing Clint's name on the screen.

“Um, hi.”

There are voices in the background, which means Clint has already left his apartment. A quick check of his watch confirms that Phil isn't running late. When Clint doesn't seem like he's going to say more, Phil asks, “How's it going?” 

“'m okay.” Sirens cut Clint off. “I'm not sure if I can make it.”

Disappointment slams into Phil. Perhaps Clint got called in as emergency support for an op. “Work?”

“No. It's not about work.”

“Oh.” Clint changed his mind, then. It's not entirely unexpected considering how awkward the conversation that led to the date was. But Phil thought there had been an admission of mutual feelings somewhere among their fumbled words. “I understand.”

“No—it's not—I still want to go out, but...” Clint pauses. “I did something stupid, and I'm—I'm in the E.R.”

“Are you okay?” Phil asks, immediately feeling dumb. Clint is talking to him, after all, which means he can't be in bad shape. Although considering how good Clint is at enduring pain, that's not much to go on.

“Yeah. Kinda. Mostly. Cracked a rib, maybe. And things are a little fuzzy, so concussion is a possibility.”

“Jesus, Clint, where are you? I'm coming.” Phil stuffs his wallet and his badge in the back pockets of his jeans and makes his way to the front door, grabbing his leather jacket off the hook next to it.

“You don't have to! I'm okay, really—”

“This isn't up for debate. I can't have an injured SHIELD agent in a public hospital.” Phil pulls the door closed behind him.

“Right. That makes sense.” Clint's voice sounds flat.

“Which hospital?” Phil automatically defaults to his agent voice. It helps keep the worry about Clint at bay.

Clint rattles off the name and address. It'll take a while for Phil to get there, especially with Friday evening traffic, but at least he manages to flag down a cab fairly quickly. 

The E.R. is overflowing with people. Phil spots Clint in a back corner, leaning against the wall. He makes his way across the room, neatly sidestepping a few toddlers. Fortunately, the seat next to Clint is empty. 

“Sorry it took so long to get here.” Phil takes stock of Clint. His eyes are out of focus and his left hand is pressed against his right side. His other hand is bandaged.

Clint blinks. “Hi. You came.”

“I said I would.” Phil isn't sure what to do with his hands. He wants to feel over Clint's ribs to see if they're really cracked. While he wouldn't hesitate in the field, it seems unnecessary here, when Clint will soon see a doctor. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Clint looks off to the side. “I was getting ready, and I was thirsty, so I got a glass of water. It sorta slipped out of my hands and went all over the tiles and when I tried to pick up the pieces, I slipped. I must've fallen at a weird angle to hit my ribs. Banged up my knee pretty well, too.”

Phil winces. Trust Clint to get through a minefield or saunter along rooftops without ever missing a step only to nearly knock himself out in his own kitchen. He touches the tips of his fingers to Clint's wrist, needing some form of contact with him. “You cut your hand?”

Clint nods. “My side, too.”

Phil bends closer, reaching before he can stop himself. Clint lets his hand slide away and Phil realizes that there's gauze under Clint's T-shirt, spots of blood coming through it. Phil gently lays his palm over it. “Bad?”

Clint shrugs, then hisses at the movement. “Not that bad.”

Phil only holds back from peeling away the gauze to take a closer look at the cut because that would be strange in an E.R. waiting room. “How long have you been here? Has anyone come to see you yet?”

“Yeah, a nurse gave me some forms to fill out. Must have been two hours ago.” Clint shifts away from the wall and closer to Phil.

“Did you tell them that you probably need stitches and have a concussion? Why are you here, anyway, and not in Medical?” Phil realizes that the last question came out too harsh.

Clint sinks lower in his chair. “It's not that bad, and it's so dumb, slipping on some water. Figured this was easier.”

Phil holds back a sigh. Medical is often overworked but they make sure to take care of all agents, no matter how small the injury is. “It's not dumb. Most injuries happen at home. I'll go check to see how much longer you have to wait.”

Clint grasps Phil's arm. “I can wait. They called my name a while back but there was this mom with two sick kids, so I said they could go ahead. I'm probably next.”

Fuzzy warmth blooms in Phil's chest. Of course Clint would let others go ahead even if he was in pain. This sort of kindness is one of the many reasons why Phil cares about Clint. Why he's glad they've finally managed to see if they can fit together outside of work as well. “I'll check anyway. Just to be sure.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Phil squeezes Clint's shoulder as he stands. He walks over to the admittance desk and asks about Clint. Sliding his badge across to the nurse makes things a whole lot easier. She tells Phil to take Clint to one of the exam rooms and assures him that a doctor will be with them in less than ten minutes.

“We can wait in one of the rooms down the hall,” Phil tells Clint and helps him up. Clint sways, his eyes closing. Phil wraps an arm around his side to steady him. “Okay?”

“Dizzy.”

“Take your time. No rush.” Phil can see Clint breathing with much purpose. “Nausea?”

“A little.”

“Want to sit down again?”

Clint doesn't answer. After a little while, he opens his eyes. “I'm good.”

They slowly make their way to the exam room, where Clint sits down on the table, letting out a relieved sigh. There's a chair next to it, but Phil remains standing right in front of Clint, who looks pale. He may have hit his head more strongly than he suspected. It's not like Clint to drop a glass, but perhaps the impending date distracted him. Phil certainly was distracted all day, nearly filing form X-21-A.4 as an X-21-A.5. 

Clint whimpers softly.

Phil settles his hands on Clint's shoulders. “Tell me if I need to get someone right now.” Clint gives the minutest shake of head and leans forward, straining toward Phil. With another step forward, Phil stands close enough for Clint to rest his head against Phil's chest. It's a sure sign that Clint feels like crap—he doesn't ask for comfort otherwise. Phil moves one of his hands to the back of Clint's neck and rests it there. 

“Thank you,” Clint whispers. 

“You're welcome.”

A minute later, Clint shivers. Phil had wondered earlier if he wasn't cold dressed only in a T-shirt, but Clint often seems impervious to cold. Shrugging out of his jacket, Phil drapes it over Clint's shoulders. “Better?”

“Hmm.”

Phil's hands take up their previous positions on Clint's shoulder and nape. “Should've put on a jacket.”

“Getting on the T-shirt sucked enough. At least 'm wearing pants.”

In Phil's mental image of the events that landed Clint in the E.R., he was fully dressed, but perhaps that was not the case. “You got dressed after you fell?”

“I'd just gotten out of the shower when I went to get something to drink.”

The cut on Clint's side suddenly makes much more sense. “Were you...naked?”

Clint's silence is answer enough. Phil bites his lip so he doesn't laugh. He feels bad about the impulse to laugh, but Clint has really shitty luck sometimes, and this is exactly the kind of situation in which things would turn on Clint in the most absurd way.

“Don't laugh at me,” Clint mutters.

Phil strokes over his neck. “Not laughing.” Clint can probably hear the smile in his voice.

“I was trying not to spill anything on my clothes. I was gonna have a coke, but I was out, so I had water, and, well. Y'know. Fell.”

Phil is about to respond when the door opens and a young man—resident, probably—comes through. He eyes Phil and Clint with an assessing gaze. “Mr. Barton?” Clint lets out an affirmative grunt. “And you are...his partner?”

Phil can see how that is an easy conclusion to draw. And perhaps, hopefully, in the future, not an inaccurate one. “In a work sense, yes.” Phil draws his badge. “I'm Agent Coulson, and this is Agent Barton, though we're not here in an official capacity.”

“I see.” The doctor's dubious tone suggests he doesn't buy Phil's “only work partners” explanation. “Alright, Agent Barton, let's see what we got here.”

It turns out that Clint has two cracked ribs, a laceration down his side that needs stitches, a concussion, and a few bruises in interesting places. How he managed to fall so badly is a mystery to Phil, but he's glad that some color returns to Clint's cheeks after he gets some pain meds. He also gets a brace for his swollen knee.

“You can go home if you want,” Clint says as he hobbles toward the exit. “I'll take a cab to my place and crash.”

Phil is about to protest—obviously he won't let Clint fend for himself—when Clint's stomach growls. “Maybe some food first?”

Clint ducks his head. “That'd be nice. Since we missed dinner and all.”

“I think the only place that's open near here at this time is a dubious diner, so do you want to take a chance on the hospital cafeteria?”

“Sure.”

Phil and Clint have learned not to be too picky about food, so the cafeteria sandwiches are just fine. To Clint's delight, they have a soft serve machine. He fills a bowl with strawberry ice cream and heaps sprinkles on top. Phil gets a decaf coffee. He really wants a regular cup, but he'll never sleep if he does. 

“This is kind of like a date,” Clint observes halfway through his ice cream.

Phil raises his eyebrows.

“Well, we've had food together outside of work and we've talked about non-work things.”

“If this is your definition of a date, then I don't want to know what kinds of dates you've been on.” Phil means to tease, but immediately realizes it was the wrong thing to say.

Clint looks down at his bowl. “Not really the dating type.”

That makes sense considering what little Phil knows of Clint's personal life. Phil isn't a stranger to falling into bed with someone, either, because that's often the only kind of romance you get when you work for SHIELD. But he sense there's more behind those words. “I was happy that you asked me out.”

Clint steals a glance at Phil. “Yeah? I mean, I guess you were since you said yes.”

Phil nudges his fingers against Clint's hand. He would take it, but he doesn't know how Clint feels about PDA, even if there are only a handful of people scattered around the cafeteria. “Definitely. I was looking forward to tonight.”

“Sorry I screwed up.”

“That's not—it was an accident. Not your fault. We can always go out again.” 

A hesitant smile brightens Clint's features. “Alright.” He runs his thumb over the back of Phil's hand. “That okay?”

Phil turns his hand over in invitation. Clint's fingers close over it immediately.

Clint's eyes sparkle with mischief. “Look at us, holding hands. This really is a date now.” 

Phil returns Clint's steady gaze, for once not worrying that he's looking at Clint too intently. “Guess it is.”

They finish their food and make their way to Clint's apartment. Phil has been there a few times, but they spend more time at Phil's place if they hang out together. There are still shards of glass all over the kitchen floor. 

“Go sit on the couch. I'll clean this up.” Phil musters his most authoritative voice just in case Clint is tempted to have another go at the mess. Clint salutes him and wanders off into the living room.

Once Phil is done with the kitchen, he isn't sure what to do. He'd like to stay, but Clint must be exhausted. His concussion is mild enough that he doesn't need supervision, so there's no reason for Phil to stick around.

He hovers at the edge of the living room long enough for Clint to notice. “Aren't you going to sit down?” Clint is sprawled on the couch, the TV turned to some late-night talk show.

“I wasn't sure if you wanted me to stay.” 

“Oh, um, I kinda assumed you would. Unless—”

Phil strides over to the couch. “I want to stay.” He sits down next to Clint and is promptly unsure what to do with his limbs. 

Clint helps Phil out by shuffling closer and leaning against him. “Good. Didn't really want to be alone.”

Phil slouches a little lower and feels Clint press more heavily against him. It's a good feeling. He takes Clint's hand again. He likes the weight of Clint's palm against his, the way their fingers tangle together. 

After they've made it through two celebrity interviews, Clint squeezes Phil's hand. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do we have to go on another date?” Before Phil has a chance to answer, Clint adds, “Because I like this. Being at home with you and watching TV and maybe getting take-out. That's—that's what I want. I don't need to go to a fancy restaurant or the movies or whatever to figure out if I like you. Because I do. I know that already.”

Phil holds Clint's hand tighter. He doesn't know how else to express the feelings that wash over him. “That works for me. This. Spending time with you.” He takes a breath because his voice threatens to wobble. “I like you, too. Very much.”

“There are some other things I want to do with you, though.”

Phil smiles, having an inkling of what those things might be. “Is that so?”

Clint leans close enough for his lips to brush the skin of Phil's neck. “Hmm-mm. Sexy things.”

Phil snorts. The burst of laughter helps to mask the shiver running through him. “You want to do sexy things with me?”

“God, you have no idea. So many of them.”

Clint isn't the only one. Phil has had many many previously inappropriate fantasies about Clint. “That feeling is very mutual. I'm happy to explore it once your ribs are healed.”

“Fair enough,” Clint murmurs. He presses a soft, lingering kiss just under Phil's jaw.

“That isn't fair.” It comes out raw and choked-off. Phil can only imagine how good Clint's lips—and hands—will feel elsewhere.

“Can I get a real kiss?” Clint sounds endearingly shy.

Phil turns toward Clint so he doesn't have to move with his injured ribs. There's trust and hope in Clint's eyes. It's not the first time that Phil has seen that look, but it was only ever fleeting before. But Clint lets him look now, which must be hard for him. They spend so much time in their jobs guarding their thoughts and feelings, after all. Phil smiles at him, not holding anything back. “Of course you can.”


End file.
